


Never Enemies

by Kimmy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types, SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: First Time, M/M, Mission Fic, Other: See Story Notes, Surprises, Trust
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:45:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimmy/pseuds/Kimmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Relationships are all about trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beggings are always cautious.

If word ever got out in MI6 that 007, ever the charmer, was actually shy in love, nobody would believe it. It was an undeniable fact, however, that James Bond kept his cards close to his chest in order to protect his heart and when he found himself falling for a certain boffin overlord of Q-branch, he waited.

He waited for the smiles between them to grow more frequent, the banter more playful, the air more relaxed. And only then, when he couldn’t find any more excuses for the delay, he gathered his courage to make a move and ask Q for a date.

***

“That’s… an unexpected proposition, agent Bond.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to have bothered you with –“

“—No! No, I mean. I didn’t mean it that way. Actually, I would love to. I would love to go on a date with you… agent Bond.”

“James, please.”

“James. I would love to go on a date with you, James.”

***

When choosing a place for their first date, James eventually decided to settle on something less fancy than a Michelin starred restaurant and go for naturalness. He was nervous as hell, but after all, it was James asking Q for a date, not 007, and he had a feeling that the boffin would be alright with that. So James put on his dark jeans and a beloved - if rarely worn - cerulean cashmere pullover and took Q to a local, small, but still nice, elegant restaurant where his DB5 didn’t look out of place. Much.

And after that evening, which actually turned out brilliantly, with them chatting amicably, enjoying the food and Q being as enamoured by James’ casual wear as he was by the Aston Martin. So James counted that as a success and the next time he took Q to his favourite Italian place. This time they went on foot. It wasn’t actually that far from James’ flat and DB5 would really stick out like a sore thumb this time.

Nevertheless, after two fantastic dates they were getting on like a house on fire and falling for each other at a rapid pace, so the boffin declared it’s his turn and invited Bond to his flat.

***

As he stood in front of Q’s door, his hand hesitating briefly above the doorbell, James thought that it was ridiculous for a grown man, an MI6 agent with a license to kill at that, to be so nervous about a date. And not even a first date. It was their third such encounter and they were getting along brilliantly, so there really was no reason to be nervous, especially for a man such as 007. But no. No, Bond left 007 at home, along with his gun, and the man standing on Q’s doorstep right now wasn’t 007 – it was James. And considering that nervousness was mixed with a great measure of excitement, James decided that he could allow it and letting out a deep breath, he pressed the button.

The bell sounded from inside the flat and a sound of locks moving soon followed, Q opening the door with a timid smile, letting James in and a delicious smell out. James smiled back and slid smoothly into the flat, following Q and the smell into the kitchen. It turned out Q was an excellent cook. On top of all the goodness served to James on the plate, there was an addition of flour in Q’s dark curls that he must have not realised was there that made him look young and adorable and some tomato sauce on his lips that made them so very red. James suddenly felt very hot in his deep red cardigan.

And suddenly James realised how unusual it was for him to be on a third date without kissing his partner at least once, not to mention something… more. It made James think of how he was also surprisingly alright with that, and as much as he wanted that something… more with Q, he didn’t want just that, and certainly not just for one night. He wanted to _date_ Q. To be his _partner_. To enter a _relationship_ with Q. He looked into those emerald eyes, seeing something indefinable there, but instead of giving it much thought he leaned in and whispered into Q’s ear.

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”

And the only answer was a momentary tensing of the muscle, before Bond suddenly felt the boffin’s lips on his and the taste of the tomato sauce and passion was being shared between them. And somehow, although Bond had no idea how (which was worrying for a double-oh agent who was supposed to be always vigilant, but then again, 007 stayed at the flat. It was James here with Q), they ended up in the bedroom, limbs tangling and falling into bed, until Q suddenly tensed again and moved away, leaving Bond feeling cold and confused.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. Just that I… Jesus, this isn’t something you talk about or do your first time with a partner, right?”

“Q, what are you talking about?”

“I may or may not be a little bit into BDSM?”

“You mean you’d like me to tie you up?!”

Q turned to him and a playful, but shy smirk appeared on the edge of his mouth.

“I mean I’d like to tie _you_ up.”

James stopped and froze. Half in pure shock and half pleasant surprise. He wasn’t used to being submissive, but he thought that it would be nice, to for once let his guard down, to for once just allow himself to be controlled, let the tension out. To be able to put his trust in another person.

“That would be… I think I would like that.”

“Really?”

There was open shock on Q’s face, like he was expecting more of a fight.

“Really. It would be refreshing, to give the reins to someone else for once and let myself be cared for, for a change.” James smiled. “I think I've fallen for you. I trust you.”

And anything else that might have been said was swallowed by a heated kiss, James feeling Q’s mouth curling in a predatory smile against his. He let himself be pushed down, closed his eyes and relished in what trust felt like.


	2. Chapter 2

They spend the next few minutes still in the bed, kissing somewhat desperately, and then Q tells Bond to go shower. There is a mischievous glint in his eyes as he says that and James sees the whole idea of it is just to give Q the time to prepare the bedroom.

James goes, but he decides to take his sweet time and he smiles when in the hum of warm water softly caressing his back he hears the bathroom door open. Q’s body slides in next to his, fitting him perfectly, chest to back. They trade lazy kisses, saliva mixed with hot water, Q’s hands wandering around James’ body, slick with soap, gentle caress. Bond loses himself in the young boffin’s body and feels his blood rushing down in his veins, pooling in the groin area.

And then suddenly Q’s hands disappear and Bond flinches when freezing cold hits his back but then stills under the assaulting spray, feeling his erection flagging down and practically _seeing_ Q’s smirk behind him. Then the water stops altogether and Bond lets Q lead him out of the shower and towel him dry, still dazed and with his eyes closed. And only then he turns around to face the boffin and opens them, his eyelids fluttering to get rid of the moist.

Q stands in front of him, face to face. Q’s eyes are a deep shade of green bordering on blue that Bond has seen in the warm waters of the Mediterranean Sea when he was on a mission to Sicily once, but there is also something cold in them that James can’t quite put a finger on.

“You’re a naughty boy, aren’t you?”

Q just smirks and going backwards, his hips swaying in a seductive rhythm, he leads Bond out of the bathroom and to the bedroom.  When they enter and James’ eyes adjust to the dim light so contrast to the brightness of the bathroom he slowly lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, taking in the set up of the room Q prepared.

The only light are tea-light candles scattered around the floor and furniture giving the room a comfortable, cosy atmosphere and a gentle scent of vanilla spiced with a note of ginger. The sheets have been changed, and they are crisp white, the duvet absent, only one equally white fluffy pillow laying on the mattress. One pillow and several coils of thick, tightly braided, blood red rope.

James’ heart skips a bit as he allows Q to lead him to the bed and lied back down, his head resting comfortably on the pillow, naked and exposed under the young man.

Q has climbed above James, straddling his hips, his hand mapping out the older man’s face. There is a strange look in his eyes and James thinks it almost like a trance. _He_ certainly has been entranced by it. Q caresses his cheek and kisses him and James melts into that kiss, his hands moving involuntarily to cup Q’s face, but Q grabs them before they reach him and presses them down to the mattress above James’ head. He breaks the kiss and looks James in the eyes, his hands still trapping his wrists just next to the headboard. He leans in, as if for another kiss, but he stops just short of Bond’s mouth and whispers, close enough for James to virtually feel the words on his lips.

“Keep. Still.”

And then the long, slender fingers are gone, along with the warm weight on his hips, the  mattress  dipping slightly on the side as Q kneels next to Bond, moving for the first coil of rope. Bond tenses in anticipation, but keeps his wrists together, arms flat on the bed above his head, doesn’t move an inch. Q takes his sweet time caressing the ropes, moving them and rearranging, choosing the right one, although James can tell it’s just an act, and he already has everything planned. But it’s alright. There’s something strangely seductive about the action, and now that Bond can have a good look, he sees there are also some pieces of fabric in the mix, equally blood red and looking like soft cotton. Kerchiefs? Mufflers… Bond’s breath catches as he wonders what those are for, but he doesn’t have time to ponder over it, because Q has eventually settled on a coil of rope and brings it to James’ body now. Rather than going straight for the wrists like Bond had expected, Q continues this strange section rite and takes one end of the rope, bringing it to caress Bond’s chest with it.

James feels the sweetness of vanilla fade and give into the spicy aroma of ginger, as the rope touches his skin.

Its rough texture is far from the softness James would have expected of a bondage rope, the coarse rope reminding him a bit of those used too often by the criminals along his way. But he quietly banishes the thought, focusing on the sensation, frighteningly familiar and at the same time so new and foreign in the best way. This is Q. This is different, he can _trust_ Q.

James eyes flutter as the rope disappears from his chest, leaving the feeling of cold emptiness behind, but finally… Finally, Q folds the rope in two, finding the middle and sliding it under James’ obediently raised wrists, knotting it around them, around the headboard bars and then higher, twisting them around Bond’s arms almost to his elbows, until he cannot go further and James feels his arms forced to close around his head. The rope _is_ coarse, the fibres sticking out of it and digging into James’ flesh in an overwhelming, completely _new_ sensation of pleasure bordering on pain.

Q finishes arranging the rope and stops briefly, Bond taking the chance to test his restraints. The rope isn’t tied yet, but it coils around his arms perfectly, sitting firmly in place and James can already tell the knot will be sturdy and attached to the strong, metal frame of the bed, unescapable.

He feels the tension finally build in the ropes, the coils press into his body, trapping him as Q starts to tighten the bonds in preparation to tying the knot.

The rope digs into his flesh in real, pure pain this time and James loses himself, breathless in this agony of too rough fibres, surprised how good can this feel, how much pleasure can it bring, to surrender himself fully, completely, to somebody he can _trust_.

Lost in sensation, Bond still hears Q, his heart warming at the words coming from the boffin.

“I am going to secure the knot now. Tell me if the rope gets too tight.”

And Bond wants to tell him that it’s perfect, that he can take it, that he trusts Q, that it’s alright, but it feels like the words can’t make it through the pain, and he realises the pleasure has been gone for a moment now, and it’s just suffering, just pure torture now, and it doesn’t have to be, does it?

It’s not the question of resistance now, it’s not about survival and fight. This isn’t a mission, and he isn’t a captive. That’s not another mob boss keen on destroying him, it’s Q and he can _trust_ Q. He doesn’t have to pretend or resist this time. This time he’s supposed to enjoy it too.

And as first tears leak out of James’ eyes, the rope trapping his wrists in a final knot, tight enough to bit into the flesh and _hurt_  and almost cut the circulation, he weakly rasps, barely audible through the sudden emotional turmoil taking over him.

“Q, it’s… It is. A little bit. Too tight.”


End file.
